


Tonight

by writingontheclouds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingontheclouds/pseuds/writingontheclouds
Summary: Happy birthday, James Fleamont Potter! Sorry for making you cry.





	

_Tonight I'm falling and I can't get up_  
I need your loving hands to come and pick me up  
And every night I miss you  
I can just look up  
And know the stars are holding you, holding you, holding you tonight. 

...

It was cold.

The winds were unrelenting. 

And why James Potter sat on the roof with a very light jacket on, was beyond anyone. Yet he just sat there, arms around himself, trying to rub some warmth back into his body. The winds picked up speed with each minute the night progressed and he already had a runny nose.

A beautiful blanket of stars adorned the pitch black sky above the little village of Godric's Hollow. The spectacled boy continued to stare at the horizon for a long time, a plethora of memories flashing in his mind like a montage. Usually, he'd remain busy enough to keep these rush of emotions at bay. Cleaning the kitchen? He'd be there. Buying groceries? He's your guy. Painting the walls? He'd insist on it. Making the bed? He hated that part, no matter what he did the sheets were never perfect, but he'd still do it without complain. But today, today he had no choice but to succumb to his own emotions which had spilled over like a broken dam, flooding his mind and halted his day's activities. That's why he'd come up here.

Lily was downstairs. The low affair night started out pretty wonderful, Sirius' reenactment of how James once seduced the statue of Gregory the Smarmy on a dare had everyone roaring with laughter while James researched for ways to off his best friend. He'd come to a conclusion that itching powder in his boxers would be a better option; he's too attached with the git to kill him, but not too attached when it comes to pranking him. Alice and Frank came for a bit, and so did Marlene and Dorcas, old Bathilda from round the corner and Peter. Remus popped in later, when everyone had gone home drunk. It was nearing full moon, and he looked so pale with bloodshot eyes and his old worn out clothes that Lily was adamant he stay till he was warm, well fed and bulging from his tummy. An awful rendition of varying frequencies of Happy Birthday later, both boys left with giant (drunken) smiles on their faces. James went around the house cleaning and running a hot water bath for Lily, she'd had a particular proclivity for it ever since she became pregnant. He'd come downstairs to call her when he saw her already snoring on the couch, her hands curled around her little belly, probably exhausted from the day's activities. Her face was scrunched up, clearly dreaming of something he'd definitely hear about later. That's when he'd draped a warm blanket over her, not having the heart to wake her up, kissed her on the forehead and carefully tip toed out of the room. 

James surprised himself by identifying constellations and stars in the night sky without really meaning to. Given the events of the last year, it did come as a surprise he'd remember a subject he wasn't particularly very good at. It felt surreal, those twinkling little specs of light, like a different world out there, maybe one with peace. What he wouldn't give to take the people he loved with him and live among the stars. 

A memory flashed in his mind. James didn't know why he remembered that particular day so clearly. Maybe it was because he got his first real broomstick that day, or because he liked how his mother looked so proud that day, or was it because the day reminded him of warm, happy days without a question mark for a future. Or maybe it's a combination of all three. 

_  
“James, dear, now you must promise not to use this inside the house. I don’t fancy seeing my favourite antiques in pieces.” Euphemia Potter’s beautiful brown eyes twinkled behind the pair of spectacles placed on her nose. She was trying to be strict, trying very hard to set some ground rules, but when it came to her 8 year old son, her heart always melted into a puddle of mush._

_“But mummy, you can just magic them back together.” The little boy in question had a pair of spectacles similar to his mother, and black hair that never seem to settle down. He bobbed his head to the side, frowning._

_“Not the point, James. Are you promising or should I take this back to the store?”_

_“Yes, mummy, yes, I promise.” Little James Potter bounced up and down on his little shoes, arms stretched out to grab his mother, worry settling on his features as if his mother would actually take his birthday present back._

_“Now can I get my birthday present, please?” He asked, his eyes twinkling with the utmost sincerity._

_Euphemia Potter had long realised that she could never be angry at her little boy. It almost seemed futile now, as she tried but failed yet again. She sighed, and flicked her wand. A wrapped package, almost as big as James himself came whooshing through the stairs and in front of the two._

_James squealed, jumped and grabbed the present and within seconds, he was hugging the broomstick to his chest. His face was alight with happiness, one that tugged his mother’s heart as she sat down watching the little boy._

_Disregarding what was told to him mere seconds ago, he sat on the broomstick and went whizzing past her._

_“Mummy! Look, I’m on a big boy broomstick!"_

_Euphemia Potter laughed and her chest swelled with pride. Her beater days were long over, but she longed to be back in the pitch; this time sitting on the benches watching James play the game they both loved so much._

_Her smile did not leave her face, atleast not until she heard a startling crash from upstairs just minutes later. She sighed, put on her best strict face, and went barreling down the corridor to see which one of her decorations was in pieces this time._

James was still lying down, his arms behind his head and ankles crossed, waist deep in his thoughts and wetness trailing down his cheeks when he registered shuffling from behind him. A few seconds later, a sleepy, slightly out of breath Lily appeared beside him, wrapped up in the same blanket he covered her with. She looked at him with apprehension, taking note of the ghost of tears on James' face which were hastily wiped away just a moment prior.

"Knock knock." She said softly.

There was a hint of a smile on his face. "Who's there?"

"Something for the birthday boy." 

"Is there, now?" James asked, arching one eyebrow and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Not _that_ , you'll get that later. If I'm not tired or peeing or hungry." Lily eyed her stomach.

"You got me excited for nothing."

"Hey! Get excited! It's a present!"

"But you already gave me a present, Lily." 

"It's not from me, actually." is all she said before sitting down beside him and handing him the gift. She draped some of the blanket over James.

James' frowned looking up at Lily with confusion. 

"Someone you love."

Picking up the little intricately wrapped present, he looked around for a tag. Finding none, James ripped up the brown wrapping paper slowly, his heart pounding a million beats per minute and his breath coming out in white puffs. He saw something blue, something soft, something very familiar, and he stopped breathing. His mind became blank.

Looking up at Lily with wide eyes, he tore open the rest of the package in a jiffy and there, in his hands, was a baby blue blanket. The baby blue blanket. 

He just stared at it. 

"How..?" James began but couldn't find the words to finish his question so he stuck with the one word hoping to Merlin his wife understands his incoherency. 

"She gave it to me a few days before..." Lily stopped short. Last month had clearly not sunken enough for her too if she couldn't say it. "She thought you'd want to keep it, you know, for.." She paused and stroked her belly in answer.

"But.."

"A last birthday present for you. From your Mum."

James just stared at Lily. This was the first time they'd talked about it. The first time they'd acknowledged the gaping hole that Euphemia Potter left in their hearts when she passed away last month. James clearly had such a hard time accepting the fact that he refused to speak of it. He'd thrown himself in house chores, immediately after, and tending to Lily's needs as she progressed through her pregnancy became his priority. 

"And this." She produced a piece of parchment from her robe.

James' heart lurched, he was sure he was about to pass out right about now. 

No, he couldn't. He couldn't read the letter. Whatever his mother wrote, he didn't want his heart to break all over again. He wouldn't be able to bear it. He didn’t have the heart left for it.

But it was a last piece of his mum. It was like talking, really, the letters. Except in written form. And what he wouldn't give to have one last conversation with his mother, maybe just one sentence. To tell her that he loved her. 

"James." Lily spoke, and he took the letter before his mind could conjure up another excuse. The parchment felt so heavy in his hands, and fear overtook him. Lily's hand on his thigh squeezed a little and he looked up at her. She nodded. 

James opened the letter with trembling fingers, and his mind registered the familiar elegant scroll of his mother.

_  
James,_

_I don't know how to start this letter, because I'm still debating whether this is a good idea or not. I'd be long gone when you'll read this, and I wouldn't want you crying over your old mum. But I feel like there's some things I want to say to you, some things time will not give me the opportunity to say._

_You, James Potter, were born at the stroke of midnight. A tiny little thing, weighing much less than you should, you almost didn't make it._

_We had tried for so long, for years, and in the end, we had no choice but to give up on the dream of having children. A few months later, I found out I was pregnant. Pregnant at 44. Owing to my age, the healers warned me about the huge risks. They advised me to not continue with it, they thought I was making a mistake, that chances were high you wouldn't be able to make it, and that I wouldn’t make it. It didn’t stop me._

_But you made it._

_The day you were born was the happiest day in the lives of your father and I. I still remember each detail with vivid clarity, how you looked at me for the first time with those hazel eyes of your father's._

_You were nothing short of a miracle for us, James._

_This little blanket was the first thing I ever knitted for you, with my own hands. This blanket has seen it all, your first words, first steps, first time on a broom. You even took it to your first Quidditch Match and waved it in the air like a flag. It's seen a lot of bad days too. You threw up on it, stumbled into mud with it, spilled ink on it, burned holes in it accidentally, dropped an entire bottle of ketchup on it and then tried to eat it (you were a weird little kid). You left it back home the day you left for Hogwarts, and I've kept it with me ever since._

_I've repaired it as much as I could, but some marks are indelible, that not even magic can fix. They are proof that miracles do indeed happen. And I wouldn't have it any other way._

_I wouldn't be able to meet my grandson, but this blanket is a little something for him from his grandmother._

_Happy Birthday, James. I'll always be looking over you._

_All the love,  
Mum _

Staring at the love his mother had written in her elegant scroll, James couldn't control the dam that broke in his mind and tears flowed down his cheeks like a waterfall. His eyes kept flitting back to one word.

_Grandmother._

James eyes squeezed shut as the word kept repeating in his mind like a broken record. He heard a faint feminine voice, but it felt too far away. His fingers balled into a fist as he tried controlling the surge of emotions. The pain. The heartbreak. The emptiness. 

_Mum_ , his mind cried, _mum why did you leave me?_

He felt Lily's arms around him and he buried his face in her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist as he held onto her for dear life, one hand still clutching the letter. The tears just spilled out of his eyes and this time, he didn't hold them back. He couldn't hold them back.

The quiet of the night was broken by sobs from the boy who was broken. A boy, who had to grow up way too soon. A boy who lived with the constant fear of losing the people he loved. A boy who was fighting a war everyday not knowing he'd return to his home the next. A boy who had lost his mother, when his son was on the way.

Lily cried along with James, he could feel wetness dripping into his hair. Her hand never left his back, running it from his hair to his lower back, it lulled him into calm. Her touch always kept him grounded.

When the tears stopped, and James regained his composure, he pulled back and kept his eyes trained on the ground. Lily had just seen him at his most vulnerable, and he wasn't sure how she'd react. He was supposed to be the strong one and supporting her.

Lily's hands cupped his cheeks and forced him to look into her eyes. She wiped away the last of the tears with her thumb, and pulled him down to kiss him on the forehead. James instantly felt better.

"It's okay. It's okay to cry sometimes. You don't have to be the hero every day, James."

James nodded, feeling gratitude towards his wife for accepting his erratic behaviour for the last month and not making a fuss about it. She probably knew he'd come around eventually, that's how well she knew him.

Taking a huge breath, James wrapped his arms around Lily's waist and pulled her closer till her head was resting in the crook of his neck. She leaned her weight on him, like she always did, and James had never felt better about it, except it wasn't just her anymore. His head automatically rested on top of her head.

He thought about the now crumpled letter resting on his lap. 

_I love you, Mum._ He said in his mind, hoping wherever his mother is, she heard him.

The couple sat there, quiet for several minutes before Lily picked the baby blue blanket, unfolded it gently and ran her hands on the material. It was quite big for a baby, and James could make out the several discolouration and marks on it even in the dark.

"There's a story behind every mark on this blanket." James broke the silence finally when Lily traced a hole in the blanket that his mother tried to patch up, clearly without magic. She fancied knitting the old muggle way.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." That's when James realised that Lily didn't know a lot about his life before Hogwarts with his parents. Things have not been good in the wizarding world ever since they got together back in 7th year, that didn't leave them much time to share anecdotes with each other, between busy preparing for Newts and and not getting killed. 

Maybe speaking about her to Lily would be a better way to remember her than to just keep quiet about it.

"That one, the one you're touching, that's actually a funny story." James began as he recalled the events of that particular day.

“Tell me?” Lily asked as she made herself comfortable.

“It was the first time I discovered my mother’s wand. I was 3.” James started, smiling. 

“Uh-oh. I can see where this is going.” 

James chuckled, “Yeah, well. There is only one way this could go. I set my parents’ bed on fire and singed my own hair, and this blanket."

“I am not even surprised.”

“Neither was Mum, to be honest. She came into the room and just sighed.” 

“You were always the troublemaker.”

“Yeah.” James admitted, embarrassed. “Dad was so inspired, he wanted to make a new potion. Sleakeazy’s potion for stupidly singed hair, he used to call it.”

Lily laughed, and James felt so much better hearing it now. She kissed his cheek lovingly, and settled back into the space between his shoulder and neck.

“Tell me another?” She asked, tracing yet another mark. James smiled, and recited another incident involving a cookie dough, a 7 year old him, his mother, and his baby blue blanket.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, James Fleamont Potter! Sorry for making you cry.


End file.
